


Look At Me

by maiNuoire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom Derek, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Sub Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6338560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiNuoire/pseuds/maiNuoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Stiles needs a reminder that he's a good boy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look At Me

**Author's Note:**

> What? Another work in progress? But you have so many already, why not finish one of those?
> 
> Because I am a garbage person, that's why.
> 
> Enjoy?
> 
> Updates to all the things soon, I promise! Please don't be mad!

I

 

Stiles shivers with anticipation where he sits, naked and already achingly hard, bare ass resting on his heels, palms on his thighs, head angled slightly down; his gaze purposefully does not stray to his leaking cock, bobbing hopefully between his splayed legs.

 

Derek walks a tight circle around him, passing by Stiles near enough that he can feel the slight displacement of the warm air as the other man moves on silent, bare feet. Stiles knows he's bare from the waist up, too, and the knowledge that Derek is practically naked but decidedly  _ not  _ sends a delicious thrill through him. He's brought out of his brief contemplation of Derek's bare torso by a quiet noise of disapproval from the wolf; it makes Stiles whine as the idea of being a disappointment turns his stomach and makes him squirm uncomfortably.  _ Not again not again not now _ playing on a vicious loop in his head.

 

A warm hand on the back of his neck calms some of the turmoil, and then Derek is talking him away from the ledge of panic, his voice low and comforting, authoritative even as he croons gently. “Stiles, we've talked about this. Come back to me, now. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby,” Stiles complies immediately, the desire to obey outweighing his inner monologue telling him he doesn't get to look at Derek like this.

 

He finds Derek looking at him with such fondness that it steals his breath for a moment; no matter how long they've been together, the knowledge that Derek loves him still fills him with wonder. “There you are, good boy, Stiles. Now, haven't we discussed how you are to wait for me, baby,” it isn't really a question, but Stiles answers anyway. 

 

“Yes, Derek,” it earns him a small smile and a warm hand against his cheek.

 

“And how is that, hmm?” Derek’s voice is still low, but the power in him is tangible, a rumble in his chest, a heavy feel to the air around them. He grabs Stiles’ chin, not roughly, but the grip leaves no room for misinterpretation: Stiles is not to look away, and a wrong answer will not be tolerated. Stiles is tempted to answer incorrectly, to take the punishment, but he knows Derek will see through him, and Derek refuses to punish Stiles for the things Stiles feels he deserves it for. His self loathing “ _ is not something I will validate in the bedroom _ ,” apparently.

 

Stiles swallows a whine. “I am to strip, lay out any toys I wish to use while we play, kneel and place my hands on my thighs,” he recites their rules from memory, hearing them enough to reawaken his erection, which had waned in his earlier panic. Derek hums approvingly at the twitch of Stiles’ cock, but does not gentle his hold on his chin. 

 

His eyes are patient though, and not hard when he asks, “And what are you forgetting, pet?” His fingers trace a line up Stiles’ jaw, his cheek, caress his temple and settle in his hair, threading through the longer strands in front, a hint of a tug promising more. “It's important, Stiles. So think if you have to, best not get it wrong.” He gives a slight pull to Stiles’ hair to punctuate his point, it's enough to make Stiles hiss a breath between his teeth and whimper, enough to make him want more.

 

He's a little breathless when he answers, “And I'm to look ahead. To hold my head up high, and look you in the eye when you are in front of me.” He's rewarded with a pleased smile and a tightening of Derek's fingers in his hair.

 

“Good boy, Stiles,” Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair, massaging his scalp with blunt nails. “And why is that, baby? Why don’t you look at the floor when we do this?”

 

He continues the maddening scalp massage, holding Stiles’ gaze as he waits. Stiles doesn't want to say it, and he knows Derek can sense it, knows he'll make him say it anyway. He struggles to find his voice, and just when he's about to look away, about to beg out of it, Derek says “I know it's hard sometimes. But if you don't say it, we don't play tonight. And if you do, if you listen so well, and tell me what I need to hear, you can suck my cock as a reward for being such a good boy.” 

 

Stiles does whine then, because the thought of Derek's cock in his mouth makes it water, the thought of the toys he's laid out for the night being put away, unused, makes his gut clench, the thought of not being Derek's good boy makes his heart ache. So he takes a deep breath, revels in the smile it earns him as he finishes reciting the rules, “Because we are equals in this as we are in our life together, because you like to see my face when we play, because it makes me feel safe to see yours. Because-” he blinks away moisture in his eyes, but doesn't break eye contact even as his voice breaks, “Because I deserve it, and I am worthy. Because I should be proud-” he can't quite finish, hopes it's enough.

 

“Be proud of who you are, and who you are to me. Proud of what we do together. Good boy,” he kisses Stiles’ forehead. “I know that's hard for you sometimes. I'm so proud of you.”

 

Stiles smiles back at him, lets the praise fill him with warmth and pride. Derek pulls his hair, a little sharper than before and Stiles moans, bites his lip.

 

“Mmm. That's my good boy. But no reward until you're punished for breaking the rules. Now,” Derek pulls his hair, hard, “Stand up.”

 

Derek moves back one large step as Stiles stands.

 

II

 

Derek cups Stiles’ face in one large palm, careful to keep his fingers gentle. He holds his gaze for a long moment before leaning forward to press their lips together, purposely keeping his body angled so that the only point of contact was their mouths; the heat of his body a teasing line of warmth. Derek kisses Stiles until he starts to melt into it, pulling away before Stiles can forget himself and take control of the kiss; now is not the time for that. Derek smiles softly at Stiles as he pulls away from the kiss, a reassurance.

 

“Good. Now, go get that plug you set out, and meet me by the bed,” his tone leaves no room for argument, and Stiles is not keen to try one anyway. He nods once, looking slightly abashed at the reminder that he screwed up,  _ disobeyed _ . Derek flashes him a heated look that melts his shame into something warm and liquid, something like anticipation. Derek hides his satisfaction by turning away to cross the room, trusting that Stiles will follow.

 

Derek stands at the end of the bed, legs spread comfortably wide and arms loosely crossed, power radiating off him despite the casual stance. Stiles meets him at the bed with the plug held in both hands like an offering, his cock is mostly hard, bobbing in front of him and enticingly wet at the tip. Derek licks his lips quickly, then meets his eye again, taking the toy from Stiles’ hands, and holds the look for several moments. Holds it until just before Stiles would start squirming, wanting to give himself an excuse to praise Stiles, and Stiles a small accomplishment to savor.

 

He breaks the quiet stare with a soft “Good boy, Stiles,” and Stiles’ eyes blink shut slowly and lets out a small whimper of a breath before returning his gaze to Derek's. “Before we begin,” Derek starts, “do you understand why you're being punished?”

 

Stiles takes a shuddering breath before nodding, a thick sounding “Yes,” gusting past his lips. Derek makes a pleased sound and settles on the end of their bed, bare feet planted wide enough to accommodate Stiles’ torso. He's hard in his jeans, a thick ridge running down the inside of his thigh and standing out in stark relief underneath the denim. Stiles catches sight of it and swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Derek pretends not to notice, but the throb of his dick betrays him, the tiny twitch shouldn't be visible to Stiles through the denim, but a small quirk at the corner of his mouth says that he knows anyway.

 

Swallowing to clear the desire from his throat, Derek uses his most commanding voice to tell Stiles “Lean over my lap, elbows braced on the bed, ass on my right side.” He is silent as Stiles settles into place, the hot length of his cock presses into Derek's thigh as he wiggles into position. As he finds a comfortable enough way to lay across Derek's legs, Stiles can't help but give a small, experimental thrust into the thick,  muscled side of Derek's leg. It earns him a swift swat of Derek's palm across his right butt cheek, making him gasp.

 

“Ah-ah, none of that, Stiles,” Derek scolds, rubbing the flat of his hand over the smooth, pale globe of Stiles’ ass. “I'm going to spank you 17 times,” Derek continues, choosing the number arbitrarily, “And, if you manage not to come before I'm through, I will let you wear the plug while you suck my cock. Alright,” he asks, waiting for Stiles to respond with a “ _ Yes,” _ that's more of a moan than a word before landing another spanking, the quick slap leaving a pleasing pink imprint of Derek's hand.

 

The next three come in quick succession, deepening the color on Stiles’ behind and hardening his cock against Derek's thigh further. Derek rubs the glorious fleshy mounds teasingly for several seconds before cupping his hand slightly and smacking Stiles heavily several times, startling a series of short panting moans out of him. Derek is leaking in his jeans, and he knows Stiles can feel it against his stomach, “Next time you present yourself to me,”  _ smack,  _ “You will not hesitate,”  _ smack smack _ , “to look me in the eye,” one resounding  _ thwack _ lands low in the center of Stiles’ ass, Derek's fingers almost brushing his perineum, and Stiles  _ groans _ , rutting against Derek desperately for the space of a deep breath before four quick, sharp slaps with no predictable pattern and the weight of Derek's forearm across his hips still him.

 

“Sorry, sorry babe, I- sorry,” he squeaks out, his voice breathless and high. Derek trails his fingertips over the reddened skin of Stiles’ pert butt, silently accepting his apology and scratching thin, white trails through the flush.

 

Derek hums low in his throat, “Three more,” his fingertips skate across the swell of Stiles’ ass, the heat called up by the spanking creating a pleasant buzz against them, he dips them into Stiles’ crack, just enough to make his breath catch. Derek drags a single finger down the center of Stiles’ behind, all the way to the tight furl of his puckered hole, tapping lightly at it until Stiles is making tiny, desperate sounds, “are you going to make it?” His voice is rough with wanting, but steady and full of authority, even though he's teasing. He pushes against Stiles’ rim, gratified to watch it open enough to clench slightly at his finger when he releases the pressure.

 

Stiles sighs, and as Derek places a hard, loud slap right over his hole, his arms, already shaky from the effort of holding himself up, give out, one arm sliding off the bed entirely to trail along the floor as he slumps over Derek's lap with a groan. He's leaking steadily against Derek's leg, a puddle of precome painting a large wet spot on the thigh of his jeans, and his cock jumps a little, making them both inhale sharply.

 

The last two spankings are fast and make a pleasant sound, and Stiles struggles not to come as Derek begins to massage the heated flesh, squeezing with both hands and making Stiles  _ burn _ . He starts a soothing rhythm of  _ squeeze, release, rub _ and begins to praise Stiles as he adds in gentle caresses along his perineum and the back of his tightly drawn up balls. “You did so well, Stiles. You're always so good for me, baby. So beautiful like this, your ass is so pretty all red and warm from my hand,” Derek takes one hand and traces up Stiles’ spine as the continues teasing along the seam of his balls, down the hard length of his erection, drawing a steady stream of moans from Stiles and an almost imperceptible roll of his hips.

 

Derek settles a hand on Stiles’ neck, rubs his thumb I soothing circles over his racing pulse and scratches gently at his scalp with his outstretched fingers. “You're so good, Stiles. Such a good boy. You know that, right,” he asks quietly, almost conversational, but he needs to hear the answer, Stiles knows.

 

It comes out on a sob, “I know,” Stiles says into the comforter, unable to turn toward Derek. Derek continues to pet him lovingly, waiting for him to calm enough to continue.

 

“ _ Shhh _ . You're alright. You did so well, just like always. So good for me, Stiles. Are you ready for the plug, now,” he asks gently, one hand still soothing while the other teases, pressing into and scratching lightly at the bruised globes of Stiles’ ass, hoping his voice doesn't betray how he's desperate for Stiles’ mouth on him, for his kiss, his touch.

 

At Stiles’ slightly frantic nod and hissed “Yes,” Derek slides his hand from Stiles’ neck to settle it in the center of his back, grounding him. With the other hand, he reaches for the plug and the lube he'd put aside earlier, flipping the cap open and drizzling some of the viscous, cool liquid over Stiles’ hole, making sure a few drops land on the heated skin of his ass; the hiss of Stiles’ breath through his teeth is highly satisfying. 

 

He teases a finger along the sensitive strip of flesh between Stiles’ hole and his balls, the slick letting him slide easily. The frustrated  _ “Derek, please"  _ it pulls from Stiles is so close to begging that Derek feels a spurt of his own precome wet his thigh. 

 

“You beg so pretty, baby,” he coos as he finally pushes one thick finger into Stiles’ clenching heat, moving in and out slowly. As he adds a second finger, Stiles makes a long, whimpering sound and it is suddenly urgent that Derek get the toy into him, gets his sinful mouth around him. He adds more lube and slides a third finger into Stiles, fucking into him a little quicker now. Stiles’ hips are moving in earnest now, but he's not allowed to come yet, so Derek delivers several short, hard slaps to his ass; quick and stinging smacks that add a new layer of color and make Stiles whine in a way that Derek knows means he was seconds from coming.

 

Soothing over the abused flesh with an open palm, Derek twists his fingers inside Stiles’ hole, brushing his prostate and stretching his rim. As he slides his fingers out, ignoring the sound of protest Stiles makes, he starts talking again, conversational and matter of fact, “I'm going to fuck you with the plug until you beg me for my cock. And then, you'll get to suck me until I'm ready to come. Then, and only then, will you get my cock. Do you understand, Stiles?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me/hang out on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poetry-protest-pornography)


End file.
